


Ice Skating AU (For Dummies)

by holocastmydick (oldlunchmeat)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe, I Don't Even Know, Ice Skating, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldlunchmeat/pseuds/holocastmydick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lysandre is a retired professional figure skater. Sycamore is his #1 fan and Lysandre's opportunity to bring beauty back into the world. If only Sycamore could skate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Skating AU (For Dummies)

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a fanfic before so uh...yup. [Insert self-conscious disclaimer about poor quality/lack of skill followed by an emboldened/optimistic comment about learning by experience!!!] yeeee 
> 
> This will be rated T for now, but boning will hopefully be in the future. Also I'm about to start finals so chapter two might take a lil bit but IT WILL EXIST. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if that's something you wanna do: http://holocastmydick.tumblr.com
> 
> I realize this is ridiculous and IM SORRY (not sorry)
> 
> I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE POKEMON ARE I'M SORRY (actually sorry)

Success, to one as familiar with it as Lysandre, was like a cherry. Sweet, ripened to perfection, and easy to obtain. He'd gone through the competitive figure skating circuit effectively shaking cherries from trees, devouring win after win to the point where they bled into each other and he'd stopped tasting them. 

Winning was easy- where competitors were indeed quite talented, none possessed such dedication as Lysandre, and it was this quality that carried him to the top. Being a man of considerable height and muscle, it often took longer for him to learn particular moves. The hours he spent perfecting them and obsessing over the smallest details far eclipsed that of his peers, and his trophies proved it. 

Lysandre could have continued skating forever, beautifying the world with his performances. He would have liked nothing better. But success, like a cherry, has an expiration date, and it was only a matter of time before it shriveled up, black, rotted, and bitter. A foolish accident during a competition had left him injured and humiliated, and Lysandre swore never to skate professionally again. 

Becoming a coach was the best he could do. If he couldn't provide the world beauty himself, then at least he could do so indirectly, through his many promising, young pupils. It was either that or drive himself mad- As it was, his defeat followed him everywhere, perpetually perched on the edge of his consciousness. When he wasn't coaching, he was obsessing, trying to remember what success tasted like, and only recalling the reek of defeat. It sat like pulp in his mouth, like a hunger in the pit of his stomach that grew larger every day. The acidity burned through him, destroying his old self and leaving him hollow, a shell of the man many had claimed to love and admire. If he were a less altruistic man, he might have just given up, moved to the country and spent the rest of his days obsessing, but he was determined to find a replacement source of beauty. _The old Lysandre is gone_ , Lysandre sternly reminded himself, _the best you can do is to restore the balance_. 

And so Lysandre found himself faced once again with a number of students. They weren't as bad as last year's batch- they at least seemed to be getting into the poses… _Maybe too into the poses_ , he corrected, eyeing the way several of them seemed to be ferociously vogue-ing in place on the rink. He skated around them, stopping in position to address them. 

"I believe I requested a demonstration of your current skill levels, not your dancing abilities. Around the rink, now please." Lysandre let his impatience seep into his voice. He was aware he'd obtained the reputation of being a hard-ass, but he was unconcerned. Better a hard-ass than a pushover. 

The green-haired girl skated off the quickest, with an upbeat "You got it, boss!," followed by the others. There were four students in all, each with different (yet equally vibrant) hair colors. Though it was only tryouts, Lysandre found himself struggling to plan their costumes for future competitions. With their differing hair colors, it would be difficult to find something both unifying and individually good looking for each of them. Lysandre scratched his beard in contemplation. _I'll just throw them all in red_ , he decided. _Everybody looks good in red_. 

The purple-haired girl- _Celosia_ , Lysandre recalled- had overtaken the green-haired girl in speed. Lysandre checked the clipboard he was holding for the others' names. It was only the first day, after all. _Ah, Bryony, that's what it was_. Lysandre glanced up. The girl with the blue hair was ghosting a hand along the wall of the rink, likely for support. 

"Mable, if you'd prefer the wall be your teacher, you need not waste my time." 

She jerked her hand back in an embarrassed motion and almost unbalanced herself. Even from his position near the middle of the rink, Lysandre could see the blush creeping up her face. 

"Sorry sir- Won't happen again!" Mable called, despite looking like she desperately wanted the opposite. She didn't reach for it again though, to Lysandre's satisfaction. 

At the rear was Aliana, the red-head. Though she was by far the slowest, Lysandre noted several simple improvements she could make.

"Aliana, stop favoring your right leg. You have two skates for a reason." He watched her correct her form, and easily increase her speed. He didn't smile, but it was the closest he had come all day. "Swing your arms a little more too, that will give you more momentum."

Lysandre glanced back down to his clipboard, considering his choices. In the past six years he'd been doing this, he'd typically only selected one or two students a year from an increasingly dwindling pool of applicants, but none had made it so far as the top three in any of the competitions. It was both incredibly frustrating and a painful reminder of his failures. It was also the last he usually saw of his students, as the disappointment tended to bring out the worst of himself. He'd made more than one student cry on accident. Mostly accident. Lysandre frowned at himself, glancing up to see his students circling the rink, each of them with their face set in determination, hoping to be chosen. He wondered if any of them used to watch his performances on TV. If he'd been the reason for any of their interests in figure skating to begin with. He wondered how disappointed they must have been to finally meet him. 

Lysandre shook his head, banishing the thought. It was a new year, and a new opportunity. Perhaps it was time for a change. 

"Alright, that's enough. Remove your skates and meet me in my office," he announced, turning to leave the rink himself. He didn't miss the panicked looks exchanged amongst the girls, but withheld his comments, liking the suspense. 

Minutes later, the four applicants crowded into his office, silent and expectant. Lysandre sat waiting in his chair, taking his time to give a final glance over his clipboard before looking up. 

"Say nothing until I am finished," he began, looking at the girls as they nodded, solemn. 

"I have decided that I will be coaching each of you in the following year." He heard a small gasp and directed a stern look to Mable before continuing. 

"It will be difficult- Teaching twice as many students means less individual attention for each of you, but I believe you all have the potential to be truly beautiful performers." Bryony smiled and then bit down on her lips. Aliana and Celosia each had a hand covering Mable's mouth. 

"If you are to have any chance at success, you will need to listen to my directions exactly and not waste my time. If I tell you to practice something, you practice it. You will not joke around, you will not storm off the rink when you get angry with me. You will not question my methods. You will not 'give up' at any time. Is this understood?" Lysandre stared at his students, who vigorously nodded in agreement. 

"You got it, boss, 110%!" Bryony exclaimed. "Our chances of winning are good!"

Mable was still nodding when she freed herself and added "Lazy people don't deserve to win competitions. We'll show you we're not ordinary!"

"We'll eliminate the competition!" Aliana pumped her fist.

Celosia gave a final nod. "We won't be lame. Promise."

Lysandre was close to smiling again. He could feel it. He made sure his expression was schooled before saying, "Good. I expect to see each of you bright and early in the morning. Seven o'clock. You are dismissed."

His team left, obviously pleased. Lysandre could hear them talking to each other down the hall once they'd cleared his office. He supposed that was good, they'd need to get along if they were going to be spending all their time together. Lysandre leaned back in his chair, thinking about his decision. Training four people at once was no easy task, but it wasn't impossible. He meant what he'd said about them each having potential- They were clearly beginners, but they were determined and had natural talent beneath the surface. He could work with that. He turned in his chair to straighten up his desk, putting his clipboard in a drawer. He was just about to get up and head home when he heard footsteps approaching. 

Wondering if one of the girls had come back to change her mind, he waited. A moment later, he heard a knock at the door.

Lysandre steepled his fingers, looking grim. "Come in," he called out.

The man who entered wasn't what he expected. Lysandre had a second to admire his incredibly soft-looking dark hair before the man started sheepishly rustling it. 

"Ah, pardon me. I was wondering if I was too late for tryouts?" The man smiled at Lysandre, utterly charming. Lysandre reminded himself to scowl. 

"Actually yes. The ad was for three o'clock." He checked his watch. "It's now four. I suggest you pay attention to such things in the future." Lysandre rose from his seat, intending to leave. He was a head taller than the other man, and he knew it made him more intimidating. He crossed his arms for good measure. 

The man ducked his head, raising his palms in an apologetic gesture, but he didn't seem particularly intimidated. 

"You are right, of course." The man looked up at Lysandre, smiling sheepishly. His teeth were very white. "It won't happen again, I promise!" 

Lysandre increased the power of his frown. "Obviously not, as you are too late." He moved to exit the room, but the man blocked him.

"Wait, wait!" The man's hopeful expression was replaced with anxiousness. "You have to give me a chance! I apologize for being late, but please, I am your biggest fan!" He clasped his hands, pleading. 

Lysandre swallowed, willing away his bitterness. "Go home…"

"Augustine!" He quickly supplied, "Augustine Sycamore." 

Lysandre paused, startled by the familiarity. "Have we met before?"

"Ah, no." Augustine shook his head, once again sheepish. "But I did send you quite a few pieces of fan mail."

He thought of the box at home, the one hidden in his closet, filled with the remnants of his legacy he was too weak to dispose of. Now that he thought of it, there were surely at least a dozen letters from an Augustine Sycamore in there. Lysandre looked at Augustine, recalling how thoughtful and intelligent he'd found his correspondence. He thought of how it used to make him want to be a better skater, how he'd come to respect the author's knowledge of technique. 

"You were the best figure skater I'd ever seen," Augustine added quietly. Lysandre considered him. 

"Why have you never come to try out before, then?" 

Augustine tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and Lysandre was struck by just how attractive the man in front of him was. He watched Augustine's long fingers skirt the edge of his stubbled jaw and had to remind himself to be professional. 

"My work kept me busy, I'm afraid. Molecular biology," he added, at Lysandre's raised eyebrow. "A bit different from figure skating, I admit, but it's my other love." Augustine sighed dramatically, shrugging. 

He continued, "After your retirement, I found the time to pursue it more persistently, but I'm currently between studies. I didn't even know you were still coaching until I stumbled across your ad on accident, and once I had, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet an old hero." Augustine rubbed his elbow, and his hair fell back into his face. He blew at it, distracted. 

"I realize it's rude of me to show up late and expect any of your time, especially as your instruction must be quite high in demand, but I'd truly love the opportunity to learn from you," Augustine finished, less confidently than before. "I've never had professional training, and you're so inspiring."

Lysandre thought of the increasingly small number of applicants he'd been getting each year. Either Augustine was trying to flatter him, or he really thought that highly of Lysandre. The idea was bizarre. 

"Your passion is like a blazing flame, I really admire you," Augustine added, as if it didn't even occur to him how forward that sounded.

Lysandre looked hard at Augustine's eager face, waiting for a hint of insincerity that never came. _Mon Dieu_ , thought Lysandre, _He actually means that_. He thought about his other four students, and considered the demand of his attention, already divided four ways. He thought about Augustine in tights. 

"Can you skate?" 

Augustine broke eye contact with Lysandre, seemingly interested in the wall above his shoulder. He took a moment, appearing thoughtful. "Of course! It's easy!"

Had Lysandre been less attracted to Augustine Sycamore, he would have found his behavior suspicious. As it was, he had fully taken advantage of Augustine's distraction to look over the man's figure. Even as a biologist, he had a figure skater's body, graceful and lean. Lysandre's glance lingered on Augustine's long legs with not strictly professional approval. He would be easy to train.

"Practice starts tomorrow morning at seven. Don't be late this time."

Augustine smiled unabashedly, and his brilliance dazzled Lysandre. _The judges will love him_ , he thought, already proud of his decision. 

"Thank you, thank you!" Augustine was bubbling with giddiness. "Oh, I am so excited! _Merci_ , you will not regret this!" Lysandre extended a hand, and Augustine shook it, gladly. 

When it appeared that Augustine would not be stopping anytime soon, Lysandre removed his hand, and Augustine laughed, embarrassed.

"Channel that enthusiasm into your training, and I'm sure I will agree," Lysandre offered, gesturing at the door Augustine was still blocking. Augustine stepped out of the way, allowing Lysandre to lead him into the hallway, and lock the office behind them. 

He was still smiling by the time the were both outside, unabated by Lysandre's lecturing. 

"…You will not question my methods, and you will not give up at any time. Do you understand?" 

Augustine nodded happily, waving off his concerns. "I understand completely, I will be the perfect student!" 

Lysandre nodded himself, pleased. "Good. I will see you tomorrow then." They parted ways, walking in opposite directions down the icy street.

"Eight o'clock!" Augustine shouted, before he'd gotten very far. Lysandre frowned, turning around to respond. 

"Seven o'clock!" He watched Augustine turn back to look at him, only to promptly slip on a patch of ice. He might have recovered if he'd grabbed something more sturdy than a nearby trash can, but instead Lysandre watched as they both went down in a loud and absurd display. 

"Seven o'clock!" Augustine replied from the ground, pushing a garbage bag off of himself. 

Lysandre sighed, embarrassed on Augustine's behalf. _He'll be more graceful on skates, at least_ , Lysandre assured himself. It wasn't possible for anyone to be less graceful off of them. It couldn't be possible. 

"Don't be late," he called back. He resumed his walk home, choosing not to watch Augustine struggle as he continued to slip on the same icy patch.

Or at least he really, really hoped it wasn't.


End file.
